


Illumination

by IntoTheRiverStyx



Series: Requests/challenges/etc [13]
Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23506600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntoTheRiverStyx/pseuds/IntoTheRiverStyx
Summary: The new Knight leaves Percy feeling like his life has been cast into darkness. He will, however, learn many things - about himself, about this newcomer, and - most importantly - about light itself.
Relationships: Galahad/Percival (Arthurian)
Series: Requests/challenges/etc [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673452
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Illumination

**Author's Note:**

> This one was written at the request of the Arthurian Discord's Percy. I hope it's everything you were hoping for!

**Illumination.**

He'd heard the term, before, learned it would bring beauty to the otherwise mundane things such as books or plants or even other people. A new idea, he thought, but an enduring one; the notion that adding color, adding _light_ could elevate something to new heights was one he thought he would hold dear to his soul for the rest of his life.

He'd failed, though, and he'd failed not long enough ago to have shining any sort of light upon it do anything but _hurt_.

He learned to mask his instinct to flinch when things were passed around the high tables – a trophy from someone else's hunt, a found string of intricate beads lifted from someone else's quest path, God forbid a cup or a weapon. The flinching had only earned him more jeers, only brought more shame into the weight that had settled square between his shoulders.

When the new Knight came to court, all golden and alabaster and shining, a face and spirit so full of youth and hope and _promise_ , all the illumination did was cast a shadow over his own tainted legacy.

–

“Knights,” Arthur announced one morning, an arm around the newcomer – he looked even younger next to Arthur – and his other arm extended as he did during speeches addressed to much larger audiences, “this is Sir Galahad.”

No follow-up, no explanation, no...anything really.

Galahad went to sit down in the nearest open seat and a collective gasp and movement to try to stop him, ignored by the young Knight.

He was too far away to even think that moving might spare the Knight, so he watched, horror seizing every piece of him, rendering him into a living statue.

Galahad sat on the Siege Perilous as if it were any other chair.

 _Great,_ he thought to himself as the rest of the Round Table chamber erupted into overlapping shouts, _even God is mocking me._

–

He had been on his knees for so long they ached. The priests, even, had gone home, left him to continue praying in peace. He was running out of words, out of ways to ask for forgiveness for his failures, for God to grant him a chance to prove that he could be worthy – if not worthy of achieving the Grail then at least of being a Knight, an equal to those who drew their entertainment out of mocking him.

He was so deep in his prayers that he did not hear the footfalls until they were right beside him.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

He looked up to find Galahad looking down at him, no scorn or judgment, just genuinely asking.

“The church is for anyone who wishes,” he replied.

“Yes,” Galahad agreed, “but I'm not asking you if I can pray here.”

He paused, apparently too long, because Galahad spoke again, “My name's Galahad.”

“I'm Percival,” he replied, biting back the impulse to tell Galahad that everyone knew who Galahad was by now.

Galahad knelt down next to Percival, so close Percival could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the closeness strange and stranger still in the otherwise vacant church.

“I've heard of you,” Galahad told him.

“Oh no,” Percival said before he could stop the utterance.

“If you would be willing,” Galahad drew in a deep breath, “once I am done my prayers I wish to speak with you.”

Percival turned the request over in his mind, then over again, and again, more times than he could keep track of, searching for some sort if trap, a tease, anything that would warn him that the Round Table's apparent Golden Child was just as cruel as the rest of them.

“I would,” Percival finally said, “be willing, that is.”

–

Galahad rose to his feet and Percival followed suite, following Galahad in silence out of the church then away from the castle then into the nearest woods, finally coming to a stop at a small stream.

“They say you've seen the Grail,” Galahad said as his opening line.

Percival swallowed the frustrated, angry sound that tried to escape his throat, thought he might choke on it. He turned to walk back to Camelot and try to forget he had put any trust in the newcomer, impossible seat around the table or not.

“Wait,” Galahad caught him by the wrist, “please.”

There was something about that, the earnestness of the please, that made Percival stop in his tracks.

“I'm seen it,” Percival didn't mean to hiss through gritted teeth, jaw set but not proud, but here he was.

“I'm supposed to find it,” Galahad told him, “It sounds mad, I know, but that's why I'm here.”

“At Camelot?” Percival asked.

“At all,” Galahad corrected.

And, really, wasn't that just a horrible lot in life to have been _gifted._

–

Percival was no stranger to prophecies. He'd been gifted one himself, once, though fat lot of good that did him, in the end.

Still, when Galahad sought him out to ask more questions about the Grail, about where he found it, what it looked like, if it had anything that could be felt without touching it.

And still, Percival answered him every time, every question. There was a feeling in the back of his head that Galahad only kept him company because he wanted what Percival knew, a fear that he would find himself alone again once Galahad found his fill of answers that made him want to hold back information. But he never did.

Never could.

“If I went to seek it,” Galahad asked, “would you join me?”

Percival took too long to answer, so Galahad added: “I'm not going to leave now-now, just. One day.”

Percival wanted to say no, wanted to tell Galahad that there was not room for more shame, on his shoulders or in his heart, wanted to tell Galahad he was on his own.

“Yeah,” Percival told him, “I'd go with you.”

Galahad's smile was worth the heartache and pain Percival knew he had just set himself up for.

–

One morning, just as breakfast was ending, Galahad grabbed Percival by the wrist – a gesture Percival had long since grown accustomed to – and whispered for Percival to follow him.

“We have training,” Percival reminded him.

“We have training almost every day,” Galahad said as if Percival could forget, “Come on.”

And, as if he would ever resist anything Galahad asked of him, he followed – down corridors, up steps, down steps, outside, once, in a section that needed repairs – before arriving in Arthur's private archives.

“I don't think I'm allowed in here,” Percival stopped at the threshold, “These belong to the King.”

“We're not taking them anywhere,” Galahad said, “just looking over them.”

Galahad let go of his wrist, leaving Percival to decide if he was going to follow or turn around and go to training. It would have been easy, Percival realized, to leave now, stay out of where he wasn't welcomed.

He took a deep breath and, once again, followed Galahad.

–

“What are you looking for?” Percival asked after watching Galahad flit from shelf to shelf, picking a volume only to leaf through it and put it back for the better part of the morning while Percival watched from the sidelines.

“I was hoping there might be something on other Grail sightings,” Galahad told him as he closed the book he had just been leafing through.

“Why do you need me to do that?” Percival asked. It was no secret that he lacked an ability to read.

Galahad made a face Percival couldn't decipher and cocked his head to the side. Something about the unguarded gesture made Percival's breath hitch in his chest.

“I like your company,” Galahad told him.

And oh, wasn't that the absolute last thing Percival had expected to hear. 

He wanted to hear it as often as possible.

–

“Where were you two?” Kay crossed their paths as they were making their way back to the main part of the castle.

Percival was pretty sure a soft _oh no_ sound escaped him. He froze and looked at Galahad, who was still at ease.

“We were in the King's archives, Sir Kay,” Galahad inclined his head in what may have been an extremely shallow bow.

“Were you,” Kay raised an eyebrow, skeptical, “And if I ask our King, will he tell me you were granted permission?”

“He will tell you the truth,” Galahad replied with a non-answer.

“Well,” Kay grunted, “see you do not miss practice again.”

Kay kept walking, a clear indicator that this conversation was over whether of not Percival and Galahad wanted to say anything else.

“He terrifies me,” Percival admitted once he was sure Kay was out of earshot.

“Sir Kay?” Galahad asked. Percival nodded. “He's sharp and can be crude, but I've found no reason to fear him.”

Percival told Galahad of how Kay had been among the first to tell him to his face that he had no place in Camelot, that he would never be strong enough or fast enough or worthy enough, no matter the prophecies thrown his way.

“How incredibly rude,” Galahad said once Percival had finished talking.

Percival wasn't sure how to respond to that.

“Come on,” Galahad grabbed him by the hand instead of the rest, “we can practice on our own.”

–

It was different, practicing one-on-one instead of in groups. There was less down time between matches, fewer restrictions insofar as how much their fights could take up.

Galahad struck Percival on the side of the kneecap with a quarterstaff, sending him crashing to the ground. His practice sword was dropped and then it skidded out of his reach.

Had this been an actual battle, Percival would have been dead.

Percival hissed a cursed then retracted it with an apology.

“Are you alright?” Galahad asked as he took his helmet off.

“Yes,” Percival was fairly sure he wasn't lying.

“BOYS!” one of the elder Knights whose name Percival hadn't bothered to remember because he did not sit at the Round Table boomed.

“I think that's the end of today's training,” Galahad said loud enough so that the elder Knight heard.

“He thinks we're children,” Percival noted.

“He can think what he wants,” Galahad shrugged and then extended a gloved hand to Percival, who took it. Despite the fact he had not yet finished growing into himself, Galahad pulled Percival back to his feet with no apparent effort.

“Thanks,” Percival grunted.

“Let's get out of this armor,” Galahad waved off the thanks.

And, like he was beginning to think what would become the rest of his life, Percival followed Galahad.

–

“You fought well,” Galahad told him as they were replacing the borrowed armor to where they'd found it.

“Please,” Percival asked of him, “do not offer me platitudes.”

“What?” Galahad put the breastplate back with a little more force than he intended to, “Why would you say that?”

“You bested me in every match,” Percival said as if Galahad hadn't realized that, “and by no small margin.”

Galahad sighed and put the quarterstaff back with the others. “Percival,” he said, “it's not about winning.”

The noise Percival made must have been a pathetic one, because Galahad added: “It's about getting better every time.

“I think I got worse each round,” Percival muttered. Galahad shrugged, helped Percival put away the last of his borrowed pieces, and then turned to face him. 

“What now?” Galahad asked.

“What do you mean?” Percival was aware that wasn't an answer.

“What do you do when you're not training or following me around?” Galahad clarified. There was no way he could have known how deeply that question wounder Percival, how swiftly it had kicked in the floodwall and allowed every feeling of not being enough, not living up to everyone else's expectations of him, how it made every jeer and joke made at his expense echo as if it had only just now been send, the cruel intent of others underpinning Galahad's question.

“Follow you around?” Percival echoed, “Is that what this is, following you around?” _Like a dog, loyal to its human because it was once starving and a passerby fed it scraps,_ Percival told himself, _That's what this is, isn't it? I was all alone and a different type of starving and he promised me scraps. I'm not keeping him company. I'm just fun to bring to heel._

Percival turned around, unwilling to let Galahad see the tears that burned the corners of his eyes, started walking away, doing his best to ignore Galahad's please to wait, to stop, to let him try his question again.

He walked faster, then ran, but not fast enough to avoid hearing the shouts of those he passed on his way to his room, asking him what he was running from, if he could go faster.

If all he knew how to do was run away.

–

Galahad heard the jeers and taunts, too, as they were hurled at Percival by people Galahad had never seen before, voices also unrecognized, each meaning to cut Percival down for reasons Galahad could not understand.

He wasn't used to following and even less used to chasing. Still, he tried not to lose sight of Percival as the other Knight cut directly through the busiest part of the castle, the jeers getting louder and more frequent the more crowded the hallways got.

–

He made it to his room, finally, wondering if taking the long way would have been worth it to avoid the sheer volume of insults.

There was a part of him that wanted to rage at those who still taunted him. They themselves had not been worthy of seeing the grail, had not been handed a destiny so lofty.

But, then again, Percival had seen the grail, had been handed such a destiny, and he had failed.

As he sank onto his bed and realized there was a chance they were right, a chance he deserved everything, he started crying. It started as something he'd thought he could get under control and quickly became something that, not unlike his destiny, felt so far away and so outside of his own volition that there was nothing he could do but let it happen until it was over.

–

Just as the sun's first rays were starting to touch the sky, Percival decided that he didn't belong here – not in Camelot, not as a part of the Round Table, certainly not still crying over the fact he thought he'd found a friend and confidant.

He would, he vowed, slip away unnoticed and use the night to get as far away as he could. He would find a way to live in the wood – he'd heard of people doing it, he knew how to fish and trap small game, how hard could it be? He packed only what he could carry on his back. For a moment he considered telling Galahad he was leaving, but decided against it.

If Galahad asked him to stay, he knew, he would stay regardless of what he felt. Why Galahad's words meant more to him than anyone else's was a mystery to him.

Until it suddenly wasn't.

He'd developed an affection for Galahad, something that had been cultivated so deeply that he had not even noticed it had taken root. This affection, Percival realized, was something he would have cultivated willing and with more care had he given it any notice whatsoever before that very moment.

And that, he thought, was why it hurt so much, Galahad's words. They weren't another taunt from the scores of Knights who seemed to believe failure was something unable to be left unattended to slowly starve itself until it fell back from the person, but rather a part of the one who failed. They were a dismissal, a recognition that he would never be Galahad's equal.

Just a tool, a means to Galahad's God-given endgame.

The castle was almost disturbingly easy to slip out of unnoticed, unheard, even in the dark with no candle or torch to guide his way.

–

When Percival was absent from the Round Table the next day, Galahad asked if anyone had seen or heard from him, the carelessness of his words and the hurt etched into Percival's face still fresh, almost superimposed over his vision, the only thing he saw when he closed his eyes.

“Who knows,” Kay's words had a steely edge to them, “He saw fit to skip practice yesterday, today he sees fit to skip the Table today.”

“Maybe he took up a Quest,” Gawain, go figure, tried to give Percival some credit.

“Him?” Kay laughed, “Oh please. He took up one, failed, and has hidden from the world since.”

“Kay,” the King warned his former foster-brother.

“What?” Kay crossed his arms, “We're all thinking it.”

“No,” Galahad surprised himself with the strength behind his rebuttal, “No, we're not all thinking that. Now, if you would excuse me, I wish to go check on him.”

Galahad gave the King a deep bow but did not wait for a formal dismissal.

 _Had Percival always been spoken of with such disapproval?_ Galahad wondered, _Have I been deaf to it?_

–

When Percival was not in his room, Galahad searched the castle, not a single corner left unchecked, nor single storage area left unsearched.

“How do you even know all these hallways and places?” One of the kitchen boys who had found Galahad's relentless seeking entertaining and decided to tag along asked.

“One must always know everything about where one lives,” Galahad replied, “Everything.”

“Weird philosophy,” the kitchen boy said, “Why would you need to know _all_ the storage?”

Galahad managed not to make any of the frustrated noises he really, really wanted to make.

 _This,_ Galahad would have told Percival, _is what actually following someone around looks like._

He hadn't realized exactly how deeply he enjoyed Percival's company until he didn't have it.

When his search of the castle wound up turning up no hints of Percival, he checked with the stablehands to see if all the horses were accounted for.

“Every last one,” one of them told him, “Why?”

“He left on foot, then,” Galahad said as if it meant anything to the stablehands.

Galahad hoped, prayed, he knew which direction Percival had gone.

–

Galahad found him asleep by the stream where he'd first asked him if he'd truly seen the grail.

There was a fear, when he first spotted Percival's form, that it was something much deeper than sleep. He'd shaken the other Knight awake, Percival's confusion and Galahad's relief an odd, uneasy mixture.

“What are you doing here?” Percival asked him.

“Looking for you,” Galahad still had a hand on Percival's shoulder, “You weren't at the Table today.”

“I know,” Percival sat up slowly, Galahad's hand never leaving his shoulder, “I meant to be further away than this by now.”

“Where were you going?” there was a panic to Galahad's voice Percival had not heard before, “ _Why_ were you going?”

“I do not know where,” Percival told the truth, “and I was going because I do not belong there.” He cast a glance back in the general direction of Camelot, then cast his eyes down to avoid Galahad.

“What are you talking about?” Galahad put his other hand on Percival's other shoulder, “Why don't you belong?”

Percival had hoped to keep his conviction, to tell Galahad that he was wrong to hope to be a Knight, wrong to ever believe he could redeem himself after he'd failed to achieve his destiny, to pick himself up and continue in the general direction of _leaving._

Instead, all that came out was a long, low whine. Percy bit the inside of his cheek – hard – to try to keep himself from crying again.

“Oh Percival,” Galahad's own voice sounded broken, “Oh, Perci.”

Galahad leaned forward and gripped Percival in as tight of a hug as he could manage and nestled his face in the crook of Percival's neck. After a moment, Percival returned the embrace and nestled his cheek into Galahad's hair.

He began to cry again.

“I'm sorry,” Galahad said over and over, “I didn't mean to drive you away.”

Percival clung onto Galahad, his body, his words, the raw, honest fear in Galahad's embrace as if he was genuinely afraid he'd harmed Percival.

–

It was, by Percival's estimate, near midday by the time he had finished crying.

“I've never belonged there,” Percival finally managed to tell Galahad, “Never felt like I did anything with myself besides try to stay out of the way. More for my own sake than anything.”

“Oh Percival,” Galahad was still holding him tight, “I am so, so sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Percival meant it.

Galahad offered him a small smile that Percival could feel against his neck.

“What if we did take a few days?” Galahad asked.

“We?” Percival asked.

“If you'll have me along,” Galahad said, hope returning to his voice, “A few days away, see what we find in the relative quiet of the woods.”

“I'd like that,” Percival didn't need to think about his answer, “I'd like that very much.”

Galahad squeezed him even tighter.

–

As the days wore on, Percival found himself more and more relaxed in Galahad's company. The other Knight was, apparently, extremely talkative when he did not feel the pressures of those who might hold his every moment – waking or asleep – up against the fires of the destiny he never asked for.

“So anyways,” Galahad was rambling as they crossed a field, “I've always wanted to find out what happens if you don't skin a rabbit before you cook it. I mean, does it take longer to cook? Does it change how the meat tastes?”

“We could find out,” Percival told him, “Set a snare when we get back to the woods and hope a rabbit gets caught in it.”

“Oh excellent!” Galahad grinned, “Thank you, for indulging me.”

“Believe me,” Percival managed a small laugh, “it's quite the opposite of the burden.”

“Good,” a line in Galahad's brow lessened, “I was worried.”

Percival's steps faltered.

“I **do** enjoy your company,” Galahad grabbed his hand and held it tight, “There' is no one in all of Camelot I would rather spend my time with.”

“You are the only one who has extended genuine kindness,” Percival told him, “When you said...” his words trailed off.

“I think,” Galahad said, “No, I **know** I said it like that because I've been worrying I've been demanding too much of you, of your time, and I wanted to ease that guilt for myself. I didn't even think about how it would come across.”

Percival had no idea how to respond to that, so he raised Galahad's hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles.

Something almost like a nervous giggle escaped Galahad. Percival was about to apologize when Galahad swung around in front of Percival and stood on his toes to press a chaste kiss to Percival's lips.

 _“Oh,”_ Percival breathed.

“Alright?” Galahad asked, not pulling back.

“More than,” Percival put his free arm around Galahad, “More than.”

Galahad pulled back only to come back to standing flat on his feet and nestled against Percival.

–

It turned out when you cook a rabbit with the skin on, the fur also remains on. Fur, as they would later suspect they should have known beforehand, is highly flammable and smells horrendous when it burns.

“Oh!” Percival exclaimed as he went to pull the rabbit off the fire, “Oh, oh no!”

“That's _bad_ ,” Galahad jumped back from the smell.

“What do we do with it?” Percival was holding the stick containing the rabbit as far away from himself as possible.

“I don't know!” Galahad exclaimed, “Bury it?”

“Yeah, alright,” Percival said, “Do you want to start digging?”

“Faster than I thought possible,” Galahad crouched down and started digging with his bare hands, “Second though, leave it, smother the fire, and find another campsite while there's still daylight.”

“Better idea,” Percival agreed.

–

Dinner, they decided, would be fish. Fish you could leave the skin on and not have to worry about fur. Or ever smelling _that_ again.

They were on the edges of a field area, the woods behind them, the low mountains affording them absolutely stunning views. Percival went to gather more firewood while Galahad tended the fish, rotating the stick on the makeshift spit periodically.

“Smells delicious,” Percival told him as he returned, “How's it coming?”

“I mean, it's fish,” Galahad replied, “We could probably eat it now but it may or may not be hot all the way through.”

“Eh,” Percival shrugged as he dropped the wood to the ground, “I can wait.”

“So uh,” Galahad gave the stick another turn before looking up at Percival, “you're coming back, right? To Camelot?”

“I still don't feel like I belong,” Percival told him.

“Come back with me,” Galahad told him, “please.”

“But do I belong with you?” Percival hadn't realized he'd been trying to answer that question. He came to a crouch next to Galahad under the pretense of 

“I hope so,” Galahad told him, “I truly, truly hope so.”

“Then yes,” Percival told him, “I'll come back with you.”

Galahad Leaned over to embrace Percival again. This time, Percival was ready and able to return the gesture immediately.

–

Percival awoke first, the last night's fire long dead and the sun already having began its ascent. He moved so he could sit cross-legged and watch the sunrise slowly brighten the terrain.

“You're up early,” Galahad said with a yawn, “Are we getting moving already?”

“Nah,” Percival told him, “just watching the sunrise.”

“That early,” Galahad muttered. Still, he was on his feet and moving towards Percival. He laid down on his side with his head in Percival's lap, one hand on Percival's lower leg. Percival reached down to stroke Galahad's hair, a near-instinctual move. Galahad made a contented sound, letting him know he'd done the right thing.

It wasn't long until Galahad had fallen back to sleep. Percival chuckled, loud in the morning silence despite the quietness of the sound.

He watched as the sun finally graced Galahad's features, his gold-and-alabaster features shining even brighter. Percival tucked Galahad's hair behind his ear.

His heart skipped a few beats as he realized Galahad's illumination didn't have to cast a shadow over his own life. If they talked, if they were as honest with each other as they had been the past few days he, too, could live a life fully illuminated.


End file.
